Do you still think of me
when you see a dress
like I think of you when I see sus
penders at the thrift store?

And although I don't possess your love
do you feel it fleeting, slipping, in a quick
second when you remember my
milk white skin?

I don't know if love is constant,
a coefficient, with a short half life
fuelled by intimacy and clever conversation

But I know mine wavers
like something flapping in the wind
and I don't know what
but it's so powerful that it robs me of my
breath when I am reminded of
You

Sometimes it stays.
These moments are consumed by you.